Chapter Eight: Jigsaw Puzzle
“Damn cat!” My breath sent vapor into the chilly air. If not for his hex, I could’ve slept another hour rather than being out here soaking up every possible ray of sun. I huddled on my front porch while waiting on Cerise to pick me up for work. Outside for nearly an hour already, my cheeks and nose stung from both cold and sun. A dense patch of woods surrounded the dress shop, so even going outside during my brief lunch break wouldn’t likely give enough sunlight to do me any good.
I sipped a cup of coffee, which seemed to do as well as the sun to energize me this morning. After the noises against the house last night, I’d slept fitfully. Probably some school kids from town had drifted over after visiting the haunted cabin. After a fun time, they might’ve wanted to pretend to be goblins themselves. Or that’s what I tried to believe. I eyed the rocking chair, wondering if it was enchanted with a house spirit belonging to one of Cerise’s deceased relatives. I picked at the edge of the fresh bandage on my right hand.
The sun rose higher and grew warm enough for me to remove my corduroy jacket and push up my sleeves. Better for sunbathing. I fell into a daydream and thought of Logan. I’d worn my hair loose today, hoping he’d like it that way. A twinge of concern about why he hadn’t checked on me broke my reverie. Again, possible reasons zipped through my mind. At the sight of Cerise’s car turning onto the drive, I forced them out.
***
From the steps of the dress shop, I waved goodbye to Cerise and cracked the front door open, watchful for Shireen’s wicked cat. “Hello.”
A rustling noise came from the workroom.
Unsure whether it was from Shireen or her familiar, I took a cautious step inside. “Hello, Shireen.”
The owner’s head popped around the doorway, her cropped hair uncombed and sticking out at odd angles. “Aggie. Come on in. I didn’t hear you. Been busy straightenin’ up, so we can get some work done today.”
“Great. I’m ready to get started,” I replied.
“Logan called Saturday evening after he took you home to Cerise’s. Glad you’re on the mend.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry my Tiber hexed you. I still can’t believe it. Nasty cat. If I ever get my hands on him…” She waved a thick arm for me to follow into the back of the house.
I froze in the entry, and my jaw went slack. Sewing notions, torn paper pattern pieces, and yards of tangled thread littered the work table, floors, and sewing machines.” What happened?”
“Oh, I spent most of Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday looking for that no-good cat. All’s I know’s, when I’d just opened my eyes upstairs in my bed, I heard a crash. I came runnin’ in my nightgown to see a calico tail slipping through the cat door out from the kitchen.”
“Tiber?” I surveyed the chaos.
“Yes, indeedy. I opened the door and spied his tail end scootin’ across to the barn.” She planted her hands on her pear-shaped hips and let out a breath between clenched teeth. “The cat door’s locked down tight now.”
“Wow.” I bent and picked up a spool of thread and wound its loose end tight. “Tiber sure doesn’t like me. I wish I knew why. Maybe he’s blaming you for hiring me.”
“He’s usin’ some magic other than mine to turn on me. I’ve gotta see Vika ’bout removing the cat’s bond to that witch’s powers. Not a typical spell. I hope it can be done. I don’t want to have to break my bond with him, but I will if need be. Not many familiars run amok.” She sorted tissue paper fragments and taped torn edges together.
“She wanted to test Tiber to find out if he was using some other witch’s powers and maybe identify who. It might be easier to catch him if he’s bonded to you.”
“You reckon?” Like working a jigsaw puzzle, Shireen slid bits of patterns around, then threw up her hands. “I don’t know if I can take much more. I want my old Tiber back.”
I fitted the pieces together and finished the taping job. “It could’ve been worse. He could’ve peed on the fabric.”
She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “He already did that. Two bolts are sittin’ in the burnin’ barrel. When they fell from the shelf was what made the crash that woke me.”
I moved around the table and hugged an arm over her hunched shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t be working for you. Things were better before.”
She stood straight and pulled me into an embrace. “I’m not gonna hear of that. Mama’s spirit approves of you and that’s that.” She pulled away and looked at my leg. “How’s your bite doing?”
“Getting lots better but not healed completely. I’ll be fine as long as I spend some time outside in the sun during lunch, maybe take a short walk. It’s using more of my powers to heal.”
“I’d expect so.” She shook her head. “I didn’t intend for you to be on your feet so much today, but by the looks of this place, we’ve got some hard work to do this morning.”
I began untangling a maze of threads covering one sewing machine. “On the bright side, at least this work won’t require me to deplete my magic.”
During the next few hours of tedious chores, we stayed quiet except for the occasional frustrated exclamation.
After gathering and organizing strewn items on the floor, I stood and surveyed the room. “We’re almost done.” Both my back and bitten leg ached. I needed to restore my element energy, so I was thankful for the progress.
A knock sounded on the front door, followed by a ringing of the bells as it opened. “Hello, ladies,” Logan’s voice called out. My gimpy leg wouldn’t cooperate, and he beat me to the workroom doorway with a grin. The scent of fresh-baked bread and roast chicken came from a large paper sack he carried.
“Something smells good.” I flashed him a smile.
His happy expression drooped to a frown. “You’re limping still?” He set the bag on the table, pulled a chair out, and motioned for me to use it.
I sank onto the chair. “We’ve been working hard, and I’m overdue to get some sunshine.”
“Land’s, we sure have been.” Shireen sighed and plunked down next to me. She recounted Tiber’s vandalism.
Logan’s jaw tensed. “I feel more like a detective than a high priest.”
“It can be that way sometimes,” Shireen replied. “I’d like to disconnect my powers from that varmint, but Aggie says Vika wants the cat caught so she can test his alliance. Is that so?”
“We do need to catch him, and that’d be easier if he was to return here. If it’s okay with you.” He pushed his long bangs from his eyes. “I’ll send a couple of helpers over this afternoon to set some traps.”
“Fine by me.” Shireen nodded. “Don’t much care what happens to him.”
“Anyway, I brought some lunch. Chicken noodle soup and fresh buns from Babbett’s.” He winked at me and opened the sack. “Since I didn’t check on you last night like I promised, I brought something to help apologize.”
“Lunch from Babbett’s would get you outta most any hot water.” Shireen snorted and glanced at me. “I’m guessing you haven’t had any of her cookin’. You’re in for a real treat.” She hopped up and led us into the kitchen, where she served the meal onto plates and bowls.
Logan pulled up a side of the drop-leaf table, and I set places with silverware and napkins.
Seated with a large bowl of golden broth under my nose, the steam wafted herbs and savory chicken aromas that made my mouth water.
From across the table, Logan shot me an adorable, impish grin, and I was fascinated with a glimpse of the cute boy who’d grown into a handsome man.
Shireen sat and leaned forward, taking deep inhalations above her bowl. “Mm, mm. Smells just like I remembered.” She took a loud, slurping spoonful. “Tastes even better.”
Both of them watched while I sipped my first spoonful. It tasted like really good chicken noodle soup but nothing unusual. When the first chewy noodle slid down my throat, I understood why this was a treat. In my mouth, the initial flavors of pungen
t sage transformed into lemony thyme, then a burst of sharp cheddar before returning to the original taste. My eyes opened wide. “It’s enchanted! And delicious.”
Logan smiled and dug into his meal. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to your place last night. One of the actors was sick, and the stand-in needed help. Then we had some townie boys causing trouble. When I got everything under control, it was late and your lights were out.”
I savored my next spoonful, then replied, “I figured something like that’d happened. No problem. And this soup more than makes up for it.”
Shireen swallowed a bit of roll and smacked her lips. “Aggie, you’ve gotta try this bread from Babbett’s. And Logan, this near makes up for my bad morning. Thank you.”
“You’re both welcome.”
I bit into the crusty roll and a yeasty explosion burst into a host of other flavors: dill, followed by parmesan, chives, and lastly a snap of Dijon mustard. I chewed with a grin plastered across my face.
When we’d licked the plates clean, Shireen rubbed her round stomach. “Logan, I might have something to repay your kindness. While I didn’t catch that varmint familiar of mine, I did read up on Ma’s books. I found the maiden names of Cerise’s folk like you was askin’ about.”
Logan leaned his elbows on the table.
“Her ma was Margaret Flanagan, and her grandma was Eleanor O’Mara.” She stood and cleared the dishes. “Good Irish names. Don’t sound suspicious to me.”
He rubbed a hand along the stubble of one cheek and puffed his cheeks, releasing the air through clenched teeth. “Keir and I did some research on the legend of banshees.” He faced me. “Keir’s the seer you met at the coven party. He found that Celtic family names beginning with ‘O’ are said to be linked to banshees.”
“Oh, Lord,” Shireen swiped crumbs from the table. “What next?”
I quirked a brow. “But the association with Cerise’s family has nothing to do with me.”
“But her homestead’s house spirits could be haunted by a banshee.” He fingered his napkin. “If a witch here has gained enough competence in their witchcraft skills, they can stay in this world after death by using those skills. Maybe one of Cerise’s dead relations is losing that ability. I don’t know if that’s possible. I need to do more research.” He folded the napkin smaller and smaller. “But that could be a reason for what we’ve seen, like the piece of cloak you found on your barn with yew potion to raise the dead. And the trail of low-hanging smoke from that burned cloak. I followed that smoke, and it took the entire path through the woods Dulcie traveled the night before. After that realistic banshee wail that spooked everyone and must’ve come from her, she ran all the way across the coven, some fifteen miles, to where she was found collapsed and out of her head by our cemetery gate.”
Trying to fit the pieces together, like the torn paper patterns, I looked at my hands gripping the table edge, knuckles white. A banshee tied to the house I lived in could put me in real danger.
Shireen dropped into her chair. “I’m thinkin’ we need at least another round of food from Babbett’s to stomach that news.”
Chapter Nine: Sigil
Back at home after work, I headed outdoors to soak up the late afternoon sunshine. I walked the perimeter of the seven-acre lawn surrounding both the homestead and carriage house cabins. Two cars were already parked in the circular drive at the smaller place, and voices came from inside. Although I longed for the solitude of the woods to be alone with my thoughts, I desperately needed to replenish my element.
I trudged, a pronounced limp in my leg. Half way along the frontage, weakness crept into the limb, but I fixed my gaze on a temporary goal of reaching the iron boundary post at the next corner. After a few more yards, my temperature rose, not only from increased physical exertion, but also from the heightened battle between my internal fire and the hex. A dull headache made me squint to keep focused on my destination. I swung my left leg like a stiff stump, putting as little weight on it as possible. Sweat rivulets rolled into my eyes and trickled down my neck. The foot of my injured leg caught on weedy grass clumps and sent stabs of pain up my thigh.
I peeled off my jacket and tied the sleeves at my waist. With my plaid flannel shirt wadded high above my elbows, my skin vibrated with absorption of new sun strength.
I reached a hand toward the corner post, willing my fingers to meet the metal. I made contact and paused only long enough for a lungful of air and pushed on, setting my sights on the next property marker. With each step, my pain receded. Strength flowed into my hexed leg. The muscles loosened, contracting and relaxing more under my control with each stride. I passed the next post and continued directly to the following along the property’s back edge. When I reached that point, my breathing flowed smoothly, full and deep. Tempted by a path jutting into the woods from beside a boulder, I forced my gaze instead toward the road to complete one more circuit in the healing sunshine.
When I came upon the trailhead again, I strode from clumpy grass to packed dirt with ease and purpose. My body and mind now free of pain, I thought about what Logan had said. How a banshee, linked to Cerise’s family members even after their deaths, could be a present danger at the homestead. Well-known legends connected some banshees to specific clans. The banshees guided passing family members to the otherworld. But whether the specters could tie to the dead, whose spirits remained vital, I had no idea. At home, we didn’t interact with spirits as freely and commonly as they did here.
I scuffled through a blanket of orange and brown maple and ash leaves. Enough had fallen that sunlight dappled my bare arms and face. Encouraged, I pushed deeper into the woods with less worry of depleting my strength. Cerise had told me the property covered fifty-some acres, mostly in woodlot. I’d walked trails at home day and night as my way to release stress. I looked forward to this new adventure, as well as some peace of mind.
At a fork in the trail I paused to look down each route. Along the right, stood tall oaks which held their withered leaves tight, as if they needed them to keep warm through the coming winter. To the left the open blue sky and a golden path of yellow sycamore and cottonwood leaves was an easy choice.
I kicked up the gold at my feet, taking care not to allow any of my sun energy to spark and be wasted. I needed to conserve it all to fight the hex. While I’d been able to maintain my stand in the battle, I didn’t seem to be gaining ground. I needed to dedicate more time and effort to spells that’d tip the balance in my favor. I knew lots of ways to build fire energy and would try some tonight.
The sound of running water reached me. With the type of trees along this route, I’d expected as much. The arcing trail tightened into curves that skirted sycamore trunks bigger around than my arms could embrace.
The stream’s mocking babble reminded me of the coarse laughter from my neighbor, Mr. Murdock, when he’d warned me about the homestead’s curse. I’d not seen him since the coven’s night at the haunted carriage house. Just as well. I didn’t want my affairs poked into by that man. Or by Eric and his friend at the pizza place who’d treated me like a freak. Or by the councilwomen who wanted me gone. A shiver rippled down my spine. Could one of them be the witch who’d guided Shireen’s familiar to hex me?
I picked up a dead branch to use as a walking stick. The sycamore’s bark had peeled off leaving the end smooth and sure in my grip. I pushed the dark thoughts aside and used the stick to ensure more stable footing for my hexed leg. With a longer stride, I set my sights on the trail ahead.
Yesterday, when I’d moved into the homestead, I felt like I belonged. Coven folk had waved to Toby and me as we drove past. I forgot about being an outsider until Logan told me his banshee theory today. Was I somehow involved in that threat? Could or would the banshee harm me, even though I had no connection to the family who’d lived there for generations? Maybe I should’ve told Logan about those noises on the front porch last night. It was likely only pranksters.
I paused where the trail widened an
d raked the end of the stick across the ground, as if stirring the leaves might help me find answers. While not witchcraft, I still hoped. A leaf, brighter than the others, lodged by its stem into a crack in the wood. The blade pointed at me. I pulled it free, taking care to keep the point toward me, and placed it in my open palm. I focused my haptics on the leaf and sensed dim solar energy that remained from the growing season.
Without a gust or any breeze at all, the yellow leaf lifted from my hand and caught in a peeled edge of bark on the nearest sycamore tree. Most likely its mother. The old tree stood tall and straight, reaching over one hundred feet. With a massive girth, a diameter of about four feet, it was wider than any in sight. A forest matriarch.
I gave the tree a slight bow, then placed my hand on a bare whitish patch recently peeled clean. I’d not used haptics on plants since I was a child eager to try out my new skills on anything and everything. Smooth and warm, the tree pulsated with vibrant energy coursing toward its roots where it would be stored through the winter. Movements tickled my skin, and I flinched.
The leaf’s blade pointed at me. This was no magic I’d encountered before. Perhaps an omen directing my attention back to myself? I reflected on the possible meaning. I’d come to Coon Hollow with the goal to have new experiences and grow from them, become stronger, more independent. But how did knowing that help solve my problems?
The large scale of bark holding the leaf gave way.
I stooped to gather the fallen leaf. As I rose, my gaze fixed on the newly-bared trunk.
Purple craze lines wormed across the smooth surface. A horizontal line capped the top of a vertical mark. A moment later, two verticals connected by a central horizontal in the shape of the letter ‘H.’ The first could have been a ‘T.’ More lines appeared in shapes of letters spelling the words, “This is my wish.”
The guiding leaf in my hand had lost all but a trace of solar power.
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 Page 39